Don't You Shiver
by Cloudy Sky
Summary: A collection of my HP one-chapter poemfics. Mostly with Harry. Ships: Harry and Ginny.
1. You Rock in the Rain's Arms

**poem copyright: Margaret Atwood, "Night Poem" - All rights reserved.**

_There is nothing to be afraid of,  
it is only the wind_

_changing to the east,_

_it is only your father, the thunder_

_your mother, the rain_

He sat up in his bed, back flat against the wall, eyes glued to the tree limbs' shadows that danced across the windowpanes. With his glasses off and sitting askew somewhere across the messy floor, he only saw them dimly; his ears worked perfectly fine, however, so he heard the wind howling, the thunder crashing and rain hitting the lake, the grass, the roof. 

_In this country of water  
with its beige moon damp as a mushroom,  
its drowned stumps and long birds  
that swim, where the moss grows  
on all sides of the trees  
and your shadow is not your shadow  
but your reflection._

He reached quickly with a Seeker's deftness and picked up his glasses blindly; he put them onto his face and he could see. He saw the rain coming down in sheets, the grass now flat, the atmosphere outside was pitch black and the tree limbs moved like ghosts across the window. He saw something else, too, standing behind him...she was beautiful.

_your true parents disappear  
when the curtain covers your door.  
We are the others,  
the ones from under the lake  
who stand silently beside your bed_

She was standing in the doorway, in her pyjamas, a huge red wool sweater and black flannel pants. Her face, albeit beautiful, was tear-streaked and heartbroken. His face fell when he saw her pained expression; the sight of her looking so dreadful left a feeling of misery in the depths of his heart.

_with our heads of darkness.  
We have come to cover you  
with red wool,  
with our tears and distant whispers._

He gave her a look. She sat down timidly on the edge of the bed. It squeaked and she managed a weak smile, quickly put out though, by fear.

"What's wrong?"

"I was having a horrible dream -- and the storm woke me up. It was so chilling..." she trailed off. She looked young and vunerable.

_You rock in the rain's arms,  
the chilly ark of your sleep,  
while we wait, your night  
father and mother,  
with our cold hands and dead flashlight_

He held out his masculine, solid arms and she fell into them, dropping the flashing - with dead batteries - with an almost silent thud on the bedspread. Patting her head, he shushed her quiet sobs and told her it would be alright; she believed him. The Boy Who Lived could make anything better..

_knowing we are only  
the wavering shadows thrown  
by one candle, in this echo  
you will hear twenty years later._

"Oh, Ginny."


	2. Wish You Were Here

**poem excerpts copyright: Margaret Atwood, "Postcards" - All rights reserved.**

_Time comes in waves here, a sickness, one  
day after the other rolling on;  
I move up, it's called  
awake, then down into the uneasy_  
  
Harry opened the trunk carefully, curiously. He was anixous to peer into it; it had been Sirius's. He couldn't believe he was staying at Sirius's house for a second summer; especially since Sirius wasn't there anymore. But Remus had given him permission to look through this trunk. He grabbed an envelope, unmarked but extremely yellowed.  
  
_A universe that includes you  
can't be all bad, but  
does it? At this distance  
you're a mirage, a glossy image  
fixed in the posture  
of the last time I saw you._

There was first and foremost a picture of James and Lily. They were sitting in chaise lounges on some kind of wooden deck with the ocean in the background, looking extremely happy, holding hands. When they saw him, they waved eagerly. Harry had a faint smile on his face. His mum was lovely - and he looked exactly like his dad, who he thought was handsome. The picture was just a little bit faded with age - it had been protected inside the envelope from much wear.  
  
He placed the picture inside the envelope delicately & picked up another piece of parchment -- a postcard. On the front there was a picture of a beautiful beach and a tall, dark-headed man, James, and a short, red-headed woman, Lily. Harry could almost hear the crashing waves.  
  
_Turn you over, there's the place  
for the address. Wish you were  
here. Love comes  
in waves like the ocean, a sickness which goes on  
& on, a hollow cave  
in the head, filling & pounding, a kicked ear._  
  
It was a beautiful place like he had never seen before. He turned the postcard over -- it was from a hotel somewhere in Majorca, Spain. There was a letter:  
  
_Sirius & Remus & Peter:  
Hey mates! We're having a great time in Majorca. Wish you were here (not). I've learned that sex on the beach isn't just a drink. Wink. IF you get my drift. I know you two miss me (and Lily) but don't beat yourselves up over it. Well - I have to go - fun in the sun calls (and so does a refreshing margarita).  
  
Your mate,  
Prongs  
  
PS: Lily gives her best, and says that she misses beating you all to smithereens but don't worry, she'll be back soon in full force.  
_  
Harry smiled. 


End file.
